Eating habits

Both Ash and Mira enjoy the bottle! Of milk, that is! I dunno how to effect the transition to the cup, since both refuse milk in anything other than the feeding bottle. (My mom tells me I went to nursery school with milk in the feeding bottle, and that it was with great difficulty they managed to stop the habit by the time I was 5.) Guess it runs in the family.

Ash was indeed using a cup for taking milk but it was with great difficulty that we could get him to finish his glass of milk. And at some point he decided to try the bottle again. We let him, since he is a picky eater and milk was the only thing he would have without much coercion.

As messy as it can get... Mira shows an inclination to feed herself - steamed rice and green gram thoren abandoning the rice gruel (left) I made for her - though cleaning up the table and her special chair and the floor is my liability. High chairs for kids are not in vogue in India though I find a few restaurants have them.

p.s. I am on leave since Ash has fever and diarrhoea. Loose stools that now makes him like a kid from Somalia. Kept us awake at night.

The GOOD NEWS is that my previous live-in babysitter has offered to come back, hopefully before Monday next. She is the best bet I have as far as babycare and cooking are concerned.

Fowl moods

An old published piece of mine (coincidentally this day in July 1995, Indian Express), which I had promised to put on my blog when I blogged about my granny ...

Much ado over an egg
It all started when grandma caught hold of a hen sneaking into the storeroom and shoved her under a wicker basket. These hens relish the idea of being chased, all in the manner of avian courtship, before giving way to capture.
All was quiet on the kitchen front for another half and hour. Then emerged a human form from the kitchen, lifted the hen by its tail feathers and made a quick exit. Either the hen took a moment to register the fact that she had lost an egg, or she took a few minutes to come to terms with her surroundings as she stood still gazing upwards. Then she started wailing miserably, protesting against the inhumanity of humans.
A rooster wandering close to the house heard the alarm raised by a worthy member of the fair sex, and he crowed in unison to sympathise with the unlucky female. Confusion reigned supreme, with the hen raising a hue and cry inside the house and the rooster outside.
Finally, a face emerged near the kitchen door, cursing the fowls for making such a racket, but that did not quieten them down.
So, in a last-ditch attempt to appease the hen, a handful of rice grain was thrown at her feet. The hen greedily ate it and forgot all about the missing egg.
Or, maybe, she thought it was a good bargain to exchange an egg for a handful of grain. Whatever the reason, a contented hen walked out of the kitchen door to join the rooster at the barn.
The cocky pride of the rooster received a boost when the damsel in distress strutted over to him and profusely thanked him for his concern and sympathy. The Casanova braced up and conveyed his whole-hearted support to the feminist cause.
The hen, however, doubted his motive for he was a great one for chasing chicks. In fact, he was the bone of contention between the neighbours. Grandma accused the philanderer of ravishing her hens and depriving her of her modest share of eggs.
The hens who fell for his charm became lazy and moody, preferring to sit huddled together in a corner of grandma's spotlessly clean kitchen. They screeched like tree owls at all and sundry who dared to interrupt their meditation. And there they sat till Grandma wielded her mighty weapon, the broom, and shooed them out.
The price for violating their modesty came in the form of stones and sticks hurled at the rooster whenever he was caught pecking the wheat or rice grain provided to the hens.But that never deterred him from dating his female fans next door. The most sacred commandment to him was to love his neighbours as his own self.
The chicks adored him and grandma detested him. But it was a way of life - one woman's villain is another's hero.
An irritated grandma, therefore, reached an agreement with her neighbour that she would exact her pound of flesh on the rooster's D-Day. His peers had all gone "the way of all flesh" to the pressure cooker. The rooster had already survived two death penalties but he knew he was living under the shadow of a death sentence.
To live was divine but, alas, to kill was only human.

Ash's Eiffel tower

HE gets mad when the footwear keeps falling. But he did manage to pile them up at last!

As a result the shoe rack is generally practically empty.

Dinner worries

Yesterday I reached home at 9 p.m. to find that father-son-and-daughter had finished off the yam fry (which got overcooked and almost looked like mashed yam with a sprinkling of chilli and oil in it) and buttermilk curry I had painstakingly prepared (the yam leaving me with two itchy palms) for lunch and dinner. I had calculated that the serving would see us through dinner too, but I was in for a shock. I should have been pleased that it denoted the success of my culinary venture, but at that late hour I couldnt be less than irritated. The marinated fish needed thawing, the milk for the kids remained frozen and to top it I had to think of some vegetable to make.
"You could have at least taken them out of the freezer," I grumbled to hubby who had come in over an hour before me.
"How am I expected to know. You could have phoned me and told me," he countered.
I decided enough was enough and went off to peel potatoes. That is the easiest dish I can think of. Potato fry. Other than salads.
Topped it with mom's coconut chutney powder and curd to go with the steamed rice. And fish fry. Out of fish thawed without defrosting. I dont like defrosting non-veg and making my oven smell like a butcher's table. Like many Tamilians who dont like to store anything other than milk in their freezers. It pollutes their house to have chicken in their freezer on a pure veg day. I mean they eat n-v only on certain days of the week. Which means I cant serve my maid without asking, "Do you eat fish today?" And she enlightens me with, 'Today is Amavaasi (full moon) day, so no non-veg' or 'This is the month of whatever, and no nv the whole of this month'.
***
Another long day at work. I better think of what to cook for dinner now itself. And not expect to see anything left of the French beans and sambar.

Blog sabbatical!

A friend emailed to ask: No blog today? She does that whenever I dont blog. So I have this excuse that I blog for her sake.
Well, the fact is there has been nothing interesting happening in our uninteresting lives these days other than the usual monotonous things. That I eat, sleep, bathe, cook blah blah...
I have decided that I will check at least the headlines on newspapers before I embark on cooking - since Monday. Which means I get only breakfast ready (out of ready-to-cook idli batter from the supermarket or Two-minutes noodles or 1-minute Oats - I must try ready-to-serve chapati and idiappam from the stores next!) before the kids and their father leave. The bulk of my cooking comes after, and when I am through with it by 11 am to have a kaaka-kuli (crow's bath) and rush out myself - after checking whether the balcony doors have been closed, the gas cylinder has been switched off, the maid's lunch is served on a platter etc. etc. "All that hardly takes a second each," V tells me. But then there are 360 such one-second chores to finish before I head out.
That reminds me of a jinxed dinner we had on Sunday. We decided to go for an Arabian takeaway of rolls and shawarma and went to this not-too-fancy joint called Arabian Delights. V suddenly had this brainwave to try another new Muslim restaurant we had seen. So we reversed the vehicle and went in there only to keep waiting till V lost his cool. We walked away to patronise one of our old Malloo favorites bang opposite. The food was good - parottas, beef curry and mutton omelette (mutton fry covered in a huge egg omelette) but we had to finish it in a hurry as the electricity kept going off and the generator was having a tough time coughing into action.

Kerala chicken stew

I am not planning to turn this into a food blog. But I thought the appam recipe was not complete without the chicken stew to go with it. This is something I picked up from my mil soon after marriage - though my stew never tastes as delicious as hers.

Here is what you need: 1. A few cinnamon sticks, star anise, 3-4 cardamom pods and clove. 2. 2/3 onions sliced long. 3. 2-3 green chillies cut lengthwise. 4. Chopped ginger and garlic - 1 teaspoon each 5. A dozen pepper corns and curry leaves. 6. Potatoes (2 no.) and carrots (1 big) cut into medium sized cubes 7. Tomatoes (2) sliced longish 8. Thick coconut milk - 1 pouch/ or use coconut milk powder to make the milk. Back home, we squeeze out the milk from grated coconut. The first thick milk is kept aside for the final flavoring while the 2nd and 3rd milk which is watery is used for cooking the vegetables and chicken.

Pour 3 tablespoons of oil (for the health freak - others can afford to put a little more oil) and throw in Item no. 1 in to the pan.

A minute later, add the onion and curry leaves.

Toss in green chillies, pepper, and the chopped ginger and garlic. Keep stirring till the onion is translucent and golden brown. (A lil salt helps to achieve this faster.) The more the oil, the better the result.

Wash and rinse the chicken (say 500 gm), meanwhile.

Add 1/2 teaspoon of turmeric powder (but stew can afford to look white too, so if you dont like it yellowish, forget the turmeric). Add a teaspoon of coriander powder and a teaspoon of garam masala powder (the spice mix). Stir well for a while... Toss in the potatoes, carrots and tomatoes and stir again. Now let the chicken join in the fun. Dilute the coconut milk in the tetrapak and add to it.

Cook covered, or in a pressure cooker (one whistle will do). Dont forget to add salt as required.

Open the cooker once the pressure reaches the minimum. Add some thick coconut milk from the tetra pak to get a thick gravy. Heat it but switch off before the curry starts to boil - the milk could curdle!

And lo presto! here is Mrs. VP Mathew's Kerala Chicken Stew! (Well, I dont have the best pictures, because they were taken on the sly while keeping my hubby and kids waiting at the table for their breakfast.) Footnote: The measurements given are only a rough estimate since veteran cooks like my mil and granny just make a mental calculation according to the amount of chicken available. One has to learn through trial and error as a result.

The same recipe can be used for making a mutton stew, an egg stew (add boiled eggs at the end) or a plain vegetable stew. p.s. I am submitting this to the instant food carnival of Mallugirl.

Then and now

A couple of things I want to expatiate on yesterday's post. It is too long to go in the Comments section.
Things have changed a lot in the nun's college I went to. The girls have become so hip that young men looking for coy, well-behaved girls brought up in a god-fearing, Christian environment no longer consider the college girls marriage material. The girls go for movies on their own (not herded like we were) and wear mini skirts and jeans (the change was visible even when we were about to leave college). Since the college now offers a fashion designing course (as opposed to just a Home Science course for girls who had no better ambition than to land a good husband when we were there), girls can afford to be dressed like the models on fashionTV. In our days, it was only traditional Indian attire - full skirts and blouse, salwar-kurta with duppatta and sari.
When I was there, 1st PDC/First-year Predegree course/Class 11 girls were not allowed out, even for shopping - church was an exception for non-Catholic Xian girls. They could go to their respective churches outside the campus, while the Catholics went to the college chapel. I preferred to go to the hostel chapel, which was generally empty and quiet.
I made my first shopping trip when I reached 2nd PDC. Me and this friend of mine, Anne Sheba, approached the warden and cited a few things we wanted to buy from outside. The warden sister told us she'd get them for us herself!
"But, oh sister, we need to buy a pair of sandals too!" my friend cried. That clinched it. Like two prisoners out on parole, we roamed the streets for an hour though our limited pocket money did not allow us to make any extravagant purchases. My dad saw to it that I had only a shoe-string budget after the mess fees were paid, which prevented me from getting too lavish.
Even the shopkeepers/ theatre owners thought they had a moral responsibility to report any untoward behaviour from the girls to the nuns.

p.s. My parents are leaving tonight, so I have taken a day's leave. The kids have been packed off to school and I am enjoying a tryst with my blog before I take up the lunch preparation.

Tagged! College & me

Joyismygoal tagged me for this college edition - 8 random things about me. Here are the rules!
1) Each player must post these rules first.
2) Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3) Tagged people post their eight things and these rules.
4) End your post by ‘tagging’ eight new people to play.
5) Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog for these instructions.
***
1. I spent five years in the jailed confines of a convent college close to V's place.
2. I had probably seen the house of my future husband on my way back to the college hostel, after a weekend at home, but I had no inkling that I would become a part of that house then. If I did, I could have stayed there instead of at the hostel! (just kidding)
3. V studied in the men's college nearby at about the same time and also went to the same church as I did (but then I went to the Orthodox church only once in a blue moon). We were allowed to enter the men's college premises on special occasions - like when President Zail Singh came visiting and whenever our college held a function/programme in te men's college auditorium.
4. Our hostel warden, Sr. Geo Maria, was a great sport and gave us a lot more freedom than the nuns running the other hostels of the college. She later became the college principal.
5. Once a month (or was it once in 3 months? I cant remember) we were taken for a movie to a cinema hall in the town like sheep to the pasture, marching in two's on the road much to the amusement of passersby and the townsfolk.
6. My next college was MCC, where we spent much of our free time yakking in the gutters, off the roads inside the college.
7. The latter was a liberation - after the stifling disciplinary effect of the former. The profs had a cardiac arrest when I stood up to answer their questions. The atmosphere was so casual that students pillion rode on their prof's bicycles and vice versa. I say, cycles - not cars/bikes like profs in Kerala would come in.
8. We had this blind prof and the students flew rockets across the class while he taught. Some slept, some read novels...

I guess there are more interesting things but I cant remember much right now. Work beckons.

p.s. I wont tag anyone for this as I dont know that many bloggers I can foist this on. IF anyone is interested, pl. get in touch and I will be glad to add you to the Tagged menu.

Of Mangoes and Cakes

The mango season in the city is getting over - we had our fill of Banganapallis (pictured above), Hima-pasants, Malgoas, Jawads, Alphonsos and Peethar mangoes. Now the tail-enders are batting - Salem mangoes and Neelam mangoes.
Now with the rains on, it is the season of flies and the dreaded mosquitoes. Which means back to mosquito nets and liquid mosquito repellants and Mortein mats and coils (we swear by the first two, though the doctor has advised us against using any repellents near the kids to prevent wheezing and watery eyes).
Burnt hopes
Yesterday afternoon while the kids and my parents enjoying were their afternoon siestas, I decided to try out a Readymix Chocolate Cake sacrificing my own siesta.
As instructed on the pack, I preheated the oven to 180 deg C, put in the dough in the paper baking tray provided and set the temp again to 180 C for 25 minutes. I went for Microwave + Convection since Convection alone has not been getting me the best results.
I saw the dough rise a bit and then went off to blog a post about this wonderful cake I was baking. But hardly had I settled down on my chair than I felt a burnt smell emanating from the kitchen. I reached in time to prevent any excess damage to the cake - the Chocolate Brownie Mix was just about turning Blackie Mix! Anyway it was enough to make my mom, who has an excellent sense of smell, give up her nap and come running.
"No major accident. Just that I decided to turn the cake into biscuits," I told her. It was crisp and edible - at least I am trying to eat it!
I guess I shouldnt have overlooked a portion of Point No. 1 in the cooking instructions - 'refer manufacturer's instructions' for fan-assisted ovens and other ovens. And my Samsung oven guide - which is now in the missing list - generally instructs "No Preheating!"
I had to abandon my blogging plans as a result, yesterday. I mean I was in no mood to write anything after that.

Pink tide

.. not the Latin American Pink Tide!
My selection of frocks for Mira was overwhelmingly pink (the peach being V's selection) at the aadi sale in Pothys. Shoppers in Chennai have an added excuse to go on a buying spree - the month-long discount sale in the inauspicious month of Aadi. A month when a newly married woman is sent home so that she doesnt conceive in this month to give birth to a kid in the hottest month of the (next) year. And a month when people did not make any purchases - until shops conjured this clever idea of sale.
My parents got back safe and sound from London early dawn today, despite the Glasgow and London bomb scares. But there is a greater scare awaiting them when they land in Kerala - chikun gunya and other mysterious fevers. There seems to be onion fevers and tomato fevers - named after the kind of skin rashes that accompany these fevers.
Thankfully, I have help with the kids until they leave for Kerala on 20th.

The making of appam

This is a recipe I got from The Epicure Cookbook by Ummi Abdullah. I cant find the book but this is what I remember of it. I (a mediocre and reluctant cook) dedicate this recipe and the visuals to a fellow blogger, who wanted to know what an appam looked like.
You will need:
1/2 kg raw rice soaked in cold water for 4-5 hours
1/2 a shell coconut grated
6 tablespoons cooked rice
1/2 tsp of yeast granules dissolved in a little lukewarm water OR 1/2 teaspoon of instant yeast
salt and sugar (4 tsp) to taste
Preparation
Drain the soaked rice and grind it along with the coconut and cooked rice to a fine thick paste. Add instant yeast and mix lightly. (If you are using the other yeast, mix it in water and 2 tsp sugar, cover and keep till it rises.

Allow to ferment at room temperature for at least 6 hours or keep overnight and make the appams in the morning for breakfast. A pinch of soda bi-carb helps, if the batter hasnt risen yet. Add the sugar and salt. Keep aside for another hour.
Heat a small non-stick wok. Grease it with a cloth/tissue dipped it oil.
Pour approximately a ladle of batter and quickly but gently swirl the pan around such that only a thin layer of the batter covers the sides while the rest of the batter collects at the centre.
Cover with a lid and cook on medium heat till the edges have become golden crisp and the centre is soft and spongy. The edges will start coming off the wok by then.
Warning: Don't blame me if it doesnt come out well. I have already confessed that I am no great cook.
Curse your own stars instead!

The growth chart

A few habits of my kids I have noticed of late:

1. Ash does not throw a tantrum about wanting to go out when we go out. Instead he says: "Appa, buy ice(cream) and balloon" (translated from Malayalam).
2. Today, he insisted on his dad going out when he was using the pot! He even wanted him to close the bathroom door.
3. Mira stashes away her potty under the cot after she uses it and I clean it. She is getting more interested in using the potty.
4. She can lift each leg to get into her bloomers/shorts - no more a passive participant in the dressing up.
5. She puts on her shoes ever so often hoping she can go out. She however hates her school bag and going to school, and tells us to keep it back as she prepares to go to school with her dad. The separation is making her show more affection towards us.
6. Both insist on washing hands after eating. In fact they drag a cane stool/plastic chair to the kitchen/washbasin tap, lean over and wash it themselves. Only, you cant get them to stop wasting the water - the washing becomes an endless process until an adult intervenes. The liquid soaps have gone into safe hiding.
7. Both wave at aeroplanes circling in the sky and say, "Appacha, tata, Ammachi, tata". They seem to have understood that their grandparents have taken a flight and gone somewhere.

Two leaking roofs

I am like a cat who likes to catch fish without getting its feet wet. I mean, I like to watch the rain but I dont like getting wet.
And yesterday was one day I got caught in a heavy downpour. It has not been easy not getting my feet wet since it has been raining most evenings this week. But I had started out during a spell of cloudy calm, hoping I could catch an empty bus. But no sooner had I spent 5 minutes there than I felt the raindrops. A drizzle that soon became a sharp shower accompanied by fireworks in the sky.
The two-dozen commuters waiting at the bus stop ran to the dark bus shelter. Unfortunately for me, I chose a spot where the roof was leaking. I held my folded umbrella over my left arm which was all but wet. Another lady had her right arm all wet.
I let the first two crowded buses go. The third came with many a vacant seat and I waded through ankle-deep blackish water. I gleefully jumped in only to find that the seats were almost unusable - they were wet through and through, but I sat on one of them anyway. I had a half- hour-to-one hour journey before me... But what I didnt bargain for was another leaking roof.
Strangely there was no traffic jam - Chennai is notorious for traffic jams during a sudden downpour when the traffic lights conk off.
Reached home - three-fourths wet - an hour later to be greeted by two febrile kids on either arm of their harried father.
p.s. Apologies for a lousy post - a jinxed Friday the 13th post!

Parent Tips

A couple of things I have learnt on the job:

• Keep at least two combs/hairbrushes for yourself. If your little Mischief Personified has misplaced one, you will always have a backup one to comb with when you are heading out of the house in a hurry (such as to office).
• Buy a TV with the on/off buttons at the top, not at the bottom where your toddler can reach. We didnt, and hence have to put up with Mira's frequent switching-off pastimes.
• Remove the bottom latches of doors until the babies are old enough to understand things or are so busy with their lessons at school that they wont have time for such activities. I have been locked out on the balcony twice by Mira while Ash locked out the maid and Mira a year ago. The other day V had to kick open a bedroom in which Mira had locked herself in.
• If there is a latch on the outside of the bathroom door, beware! Your toddler can pull up a chair and lock you in. And there you will remain until an adult in the house decides to take a TV break and hears your cries to be let out!
• If there is a balcony in your multi-storeyed apartment, remember to have a grill enclosure and a wire mesh on the grill. Else you will find half the things in your house, if not the kid, on the ground below.

Most of my friends have overcome the toddler years, but for other would-be parents it may be useful to keep this in mind.

Two sick kids

Both Ash and Mira are running a temperature since yesterday night and did not go to school today. Mira's playschool is notorious for passing off infections every week.

The partimer has been reporting to work pretty late in the day since yesterday, with the result that V has to take a work break and babysit, so that I can depart for work. We need to do something soon. The options I have are: find a live-in maid at the earliest; quit job/ take a break for 1-2 years and take care of the kids myself; pack the kids off to Kerala to our parents so that we can go to work in peace.

Option 1 will hopefully materialise in a day or two. A chap has promised V to bring a person but the heavy rains in the evenings and a couple of other hurdles are delaying things.

Option 2 is not easy when there is a house mortgage apart from other regular commitments. And I am not the kind who can stay cooped up in a flat for more than 2 days, that too with two maddening kids. I am a free-spirited Aquarian and mothering doesnt come naturally to me! I would love to go off to my village in Kerala with the kids, but V wont hear of it. He threatens that he will set up a chinna veedu (little house, for a second wife) - a concept still popular in Tamil Nadu, with the reigning Chief Minister himself keeping 2 wives legally.

Option 3 is okay with me but V says the kids will be heartbroken. We have tried that earlier - but it is a difficult decision for all of us.

Burdened lil shoulders

Our lower kindergarten scholar has 11 books, including 2 notebooks - one a 4-line book and the other for learning to write numbers, I think! The text books and workbooks include Books on Fruits, Vegetables, Alphabets, Rhymes and ABC writing book! All for Rs. 300.
I am too shocked for words! I thought there was no rote learning and just mix-and-match learning and chapati rolling using all the montessori stuff. But the receptionist tells me the montessori materials (she fooled us with when we went seeking admission) are for special needs kids. There are a few of them attending the class from the director's treatment session.
Anyway it is too late to change schools. He can start afresh in LKG next year. But the coaching seems to be ok - he can now tell his name. I guess there is more attention from the 2 teachers since there are so few (10 in all ) students.
Every weekend he has homework to do - the past 2 weekends, it has been coloring exercises. And he doesnt even know how to hold a pencil straight. Nor does he pay attention. We forcibly hold his hand and make the motions of coloring it, while he decides what he wants to do next.
To top it, the teacher sent a love note saying: Dear parent, please cover in brown paper and label it (since we had covered each using pages from a sports magazine after the first note came). I need to find more stickers/labels to denote his name and school and stuff.
And Ash came in the afternoon and threw all the books we (read V) painstakingly covered down the balcony. The kids are impossible - everything is going down the window/grill. Cloth clips, shoes, books etc etc.
At least if one of them were a bit sensible, life would have been easier for us. V now complains of pain in the operated leg and near the throat.

Two days of utter joblessness at the job... I will it call it a day.

Blog bleat

61%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

I had been meaning to write on this, but this quiz I did today hastened it. And anyway, I had no specific theme to write today - why bore others every Monday with accounts of my going to the church, to Loyola College for a walk or to one mall or the other with the kids or eating Schezwan noodles at a Chinese restaurant or just that it rained or the sun shone brighter than ever?
I had started out as an anonymous blogger, keeping my blog on and off the Blogger radar and the Google Search machine. I first had my brother alone reading it, then my cousin Ranjith who decided to give me some visibility by giving a link to my blog in his blog, and then my friend Usha. After some initial confusion about what intellectual and philosophical stuff to write about, I thought I should focus on my kids. And I changed my blog's name from Food for Thought to Mary has 2 little lambs.
Then came the first comment from a stranger - Brandy of Crochet Nut, now renamed. That got me suddenly more interested in my blog. I started writing more frequently. Even then, it was generally no original writing but a cut-and-paste job of my emails to friends and family.
And then, I discovered Sitemeter, which told me from which countries my visitors came from. That had me hooked. Not that I had many visitors, but I just had to look everyday to see if my blog had at least one visitor other than myself.
I soon got bold enough to give my site address to my old friends and my husband. V, who thought I was up to some frivolous activity he couldnt care to check out, was impressed - and he gave me some publicity among a few of his family members.
A digital camera and a home PC expanded my blogging horizon to such an extent that I had to check sitemeter first thing in the morn (after brushing my teeth) and upload photos before 8 a.m. (my internet service provider doesnt charge me for uploading/downloading between 2 a.m. and 8 a.m.).
And V would comment, "The way you check your blog and sitemeter, one would think you have to collect a fee everyday from all those who read it."
I try to be a little less addicted now that I have to cook and mind the kids - until the next live-in maid comes, a mirage so far. And I try to make it seem more like a Reporter's diary (and hone my unused reporting skills I mastered at IIMC) and less like a harried mom's rant.
Luckily or unluckily, I have more break hours than work hours at work! Such as the present one which gave me the opportunity to write this.
Lunch time, folks! (I seem to be living a pure "Indian government service" life at work - next comes the afternoon nap, then tea and chitchat and by then it is time to go home.)

Mushroom gal

Mira got a mushroom cut today, more like a navy cut.

p.s. That's the kiddie haircutting zone at Dreamz Skin and Hair Salon. They have a special section for men and another for ladies. Maybe I will treat myself to an aroma facial therapy and pay through the roof!

Lucky 7/7/7

Close to my apartment, there is an institution that caters to the needs of underprivileged, economically backward and also orphaned teenaged girls. The girls, probably in the 15-19 age group, are trained in tailoring, nursing, computer courses and other vocational skills in the recently inaugurated, swank College next door. Until then, it was probably held in the building near ours.
Some of the girls are meant for only the hostel chores - sweeping, cooking - but all of them come to the underground sump in front of the building to draw water for their daily needs. My Kerala maids, for want of some spice to their lives (coming from a State where people are inquisitive and like to know what goes on in other people's lives) kept a tab on the activities and informed me when some function was on. Or when foreigners come visiting - the centre has branches abroad. The foreign visitors have airconditioned rooms to the right of the building. Whereas the old watchman bathes in the open in a corner in front of the building and his meals are chucked before him by one girl or the other.
The place is run by an elderly couple, whom the girls call Amma (mother) and Ayya (master) - going by the rangoli that the girls prepare at twilight on the eve of the Amma's and Ayya's birthday.
Today was the Ayya's birthday, and the girls had prepared an elaborate and colorful kolam, which I couldnt resist photographing. Some of the girls were tickled pink when the Ayya shook hands with them. I hope they get a special meal for lunch today.

The couple live with their guitarist son - well, the chap always carries one in his hands - who plays it on Sundays at the service in the chapel. The morning prayer - we get to hear only the hymn sung by the girls at the end of it - every day is bereft of such accompaniments.
Anyway, I am glad I am able to live in a somewhat quiet - save for a few vendors hawking their goods on a mobile cart later in the morning - and decent street, where I get to listen to some Christian hymns, a passive way of prayer for an errant Xian like me. Not to mention the azaan from the mosque to the west of my flat at regular intervals - though the 5 a.m. one often breaks our slumber.
To digress, the rented place we lived for 4 years before we shifted to our own little heaven in Oct '06 was a lively (read noisy) place. The hawkers are on the street by 6 am - right from the guy hoarsely shouting putte putte (steamed ricecake that looks like little cylinders) to the fella shouting idiapp (for idiappam/stringhoppers?)to the fella rushing off with bamboo mats to the many vegetable sellers. The garbage guy comes whistling at 9 p.m. Altogether a lot of commotion.
Coming back to the centre, I must say that I am grateful for the entertainment the girls provide to my kids when they come to draw water. The girls call out and the kids wave back.
p.s. The newspapers tell me that today is a lucky day being 07/07/07 and that many couples are planning to get married today. V said we could get married again today to improve our chances of marital bliss.

Truly Indian

Mira now looks like a proper Indian girl with her silver anklets and a hip chain I got her yesterday from GRT (apart from a pair of baby studs that is pretty microscopic). Until now, you couldnt really make out if she was a boy or a girl when dressed in Ash's hand-me-downs, mostly shorts and t-shirts, and a short hairstyle. Now you can hear her a mile away when she comes jingling her anklets - it has caught her fancy so much that she kept shaking her leg the whole night. The hip chain has 3 small bells too, unlike the Kerala ones which come with a leaf motif for girls and a linga motif for boys.

Mira's day out

Today was Mira's first day at the pre-school cum daycare. She only did an hour today, though the pre-school session is from 9 to 12. The moment she saw me, when I went to pick her up, she started sobbing. She was seated on the lap of Shobha, one of the ladies who run the school, eating banana chips. Shobha told me that M had been crying and that they pacified her with the chips - she had refused the bread toast I packed in her snack box.
Mira clung to me and refused to go to the watchman's wife and daughter, who normally keep her entertained when she goes down.
I guess I will have to send her for 1 hour this week, till she gets used to being away from us and the house. Here I was hoping I could leave early for work now that Mira started pre-school and that my partime maid could come at 12 and pick her from school... Maybe from next week!

Yesterday, on my way home, I did a quick tour of Landmark in Spencer Plaza to buy nursery rhymes DVDs (my first buy last week has been a major hit with the kids, and helped to keep them riveted to the PC screen while I finished my chores), crayons (for Ash's school coloring exercises) and a copy of The Alchemist (to replace the copy I borrowed from a friend, which had got slightly damaged in my custody).

Ode to an old friend

As Americans celebrate another Fourth of July, I celebrate an old friend who was born the same day over three decades ago - does that make her sound ancient?!! - and who was upset about my cooking travails (upon reading yesterday's blogpost) that she had to call me early in the morning from across the seas.
A friend who thought she owed some kind of allegiance to the US because she was Born On The Fourth of July, while the rest in her clique favoured the USSR - two of them freshly awakened to the communist ideology and the third because her name somewhat rhymed with Russia. We animatedly took sides as we read the morning papers at our college hostel in the late 80s-early 90s.
We shared our dreams, our aspirations and our fears as we lived five years in the closed confines of a convent hostel and the college in the same premises. Though we were in the same class for our Plus Two college program, it was not until we were thrown into each other's company when we began our undergraduate course in English Language & Literature that I got to know her well. Our friendship blossomed through bickerings, debates and other teenage passions. It stood the test of time as we went our individual ways for further studies. She entered the teaching profession while I found nirvana (to the extent of sleeping on the job) in journalism.
Happy Birthday, Bino.

Candle in the kitchen

It is back to my bread-butter and oats-for-breakfast days at home. I cant be bothered with cooking elaborate, time-consuming Kerala dishes for breakfast. Today's breakfast cooking was relatively easy too - the 2-minute Top Ramen noodles.
V has told me that I neednt bother about churning out Malayali bf in the absence of a maid but I feel guilty. So on most days last month aproned Mary made a valiant attempt to produce on the breakfast table, our staple idli/dosa and sambar, appam-stew, puttu& kadala curry etc in between cleaning poop and pools of urine (an un-diapered Mira being the culprit), sterilising the bottles (both refuse milk in glass, anything else they are willing to drink from a glass), getting Ash's snack-box and school bag ready and putting up with various degrees of toddler tantrums. The less said about the lunch, the better.
But I am slowly getting burnt out. And bread-butter is one way I can keep myself burning.
***
Reading the newspaper is a luxury at home. I thought I could catch up a bit on what's happening around the world while the kids watched passersby from the balcony. Ten minutes later I check on them and lo! Ash had spat half a bottle of water onto the road - I wonder how many passerby felt the showers of blessing on their heads.

WWF at home

Naturally Ash emerged the stronger but Mira was the more resilient and pugnacious.